


Insensitive

by MacBeth13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Case related violence, Dancing, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Songfic, dance fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacBeth13/pseuds/MacBeth13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heatwave hits London and so does a string of attacks. A pattern emerges and the game is on but this time Sherlock is working, and dancing, with a new partner, Molly Hooper. Can she handle working with Sherlock and his hot and cold attitude and help him solve the case before she loses her cool?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, just taking them out for a turn. Insensitive is sung by Jann Arden

If any of the idiots who thought that global warming didn’t exist said so in her presence in the future Molly Hooper swore she would not so kindly remind them of the current heat wave they were having. St. Bart’s had been flooded with patients suffering from heat exhaustion, dehydration and severe sun burns, most symptoms occurring together. A few unfortunate souls had succumbed to the heat and were now down with Molly in the morgue. A few of Molly’s colleagues had taken to come down and visit her only to cool themselves off. Molly was just happy that today was her last on rotation. She had caught a few of the FY2s using her office as a snogging session hideout. She had warned them off pretty sternly and they had scurried. If she hadn’t interrupted them she’d hate to know how far it would have gone. The heat did funny things to people, including heating up their libidos. There would also be a full moon tonight, which didn’t help. With that in mind Molly locked her office behind her; if Mike needed in he had a key.

By the time Molly made it home she had sweat rolling down her back and it was also uncomfortably pooling in between and underneath her breasts. She peeled off her work clothes and took a cool shower. She made sure Toby had enough fresh, cold water to drink. She chose to eat a cold-cut sandwich for dinner, having no desire to cook. She debated going out or not. She had remembered the advert someone had handed her earlier in the week boasting Latin style dancing at one of the clubs she sometimes frequented. It sounded fun but it was so effing hot. She could stay here in her apartment and swelter alone or she could go out and dance and pretend she was somewhere tropical and meet new people, she reasoned as she got up and went to her closet.

Molly normally hid her body under layers of sweaters and patterned shirts when it was cool out but she knew she had an attractive figure. Maybe her breasts were too small by some people’s standards but they weren’t non-existent. She chose a black camisole that was spaghetti-strapped and tight and paired it with a red skirt that reminded her of a flamenco dancer’s except the asymmetric handkerchief hemline hit just above the knee. She put her hair up in a messy bun with little spikes here and there. She put on some sultry shaded make-up and some hoop earrings and finally some strappy sandals with heels.

 

 _How do you cool your lips_  
_after a summer’s kiss?_  
_How do you rid the sweat_  
_after the body bliss?_  
_How do you turn your eyes_  
_from a romantic glare?_  
_How do you block the sound of a voice_  
_you’d know anywhere?_

 

The club wasn’t overly crowded, the heat had kept a lot of the people away, but there was still a fair turnout once it the sun went down. There was plenty enough room to be able to dance properly but not so much that you’d feel awkward and lonely on the dance floor. The couples that were dancing currently were quite skilled. Molly went up to the bar and ordered a ‘sex on the beach’, a nice, tropical-tasting drink with just enough alcohol in it to ease some of the tension from the day and relax her. She picked a table to sit at and for a while was content to stay there and watch the other couples dance.

Molly noticed one couple that was drawing a lot of attention to themselves with how well they danced. They looked to be about Molly’s age and were dressed as if they were headed to Blackpool and danced like they could possibly really compete there. There was also an older couple giving some basic steps dance lessons off on the side of the dance floor. They were from a local dance studio and had been paid by the club to give lessons while they were promoting their Latin week. Molly had gleaned this from the advertisement. By the time she finished her drink and popped the cherry from it into her mouth a very nice looking younger man walked up to her, he had bronze skin and exotic looks. She guessed his ethnicity to be from somewhere in Central America.

“Would you like to give it a try?” he asked her in heavily accented English gesturing to the dancing couples to make his point. She smiled and took his offered hand. She could tell she surprised him when she showed she could dance with him without instruction. Once he had gotten over the shock of her ability he pulled her closer and they melted into the pool of other dance couples easily. When the song ended she thanked him for the dance.

“Would you like to keep dancing?” he asked her charmingly.

“”I’d like the next dance, if that’s all right?” an all too familiar deep, velvet voice asked from behind her.

“Sherlock?” Molly couldn’t believe he’d be in a club, especially one such as the one they were in. She turned around to look at him, her face showing her surprise at seeing him there.

“Hello, Molly,” he said with a crooked smile. Seeing that Molly knew the man her dance partner went off in search of someone else to dance with.

“So…” Molly started when Sherlock just stood there. He was mouth-wateringly dressed in a pair of black trousers and a black dress-shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his biceps and several of the buttons undone revealing a tantalizing peek at his chest. The fact that Sherlock had gained more muscles while he had been away had not escaped Molly’s notice and the way he was dressed now showcased his new physique he had maintained over the past year and a half.

“’So’ what? Oh, right, dancing,” Sherlock said distractedly. He was scanning the room, looking for something or someone. He moved forward and took Molly into his arms. It was awkward, Molly wasn’t used to physical contact from Sherlock. “Relax, Molly. You were dancing fine just a moment ago, with a complete stranger no less, why are you having difficulties now?”

“It’s just…different…with you,” she tried to explain.

“Hmm,” Sherlock studied her for a minute then took her hands and placed them on his waist just above his trousers, an appropriate placement for the type of dance they were attempting, then he pressed one of his own hands to the small of her back. “Then pretend I’m someone else if it helps.”

“Yeah, right,” Molly sighed. She could feel the heat of his skin and the hard planes of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. The sensation was a bit of an overload, how many times had she wondered what it feel like to touch him, any part of him, let alone his waist? She ran one hand up his chest, enjoying the feel of his abdomen and his pectoral muscle before resting that hand on his shoulder and placed her other hand in Sherlock’s, a more formal dancing position. Sherlock’s breathing changed with her actions but he didn’t comment. Sherlock danced with skill but he wasn’t into it and his expression suggested he was distracted, but not by Molly. His eyes were scanning the room again. “Are you working on a case, Sherlock?”

“Yes, I am, in fact.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Molly said. Sherlock was so readable, to her at least. “So what type of case are you working on?”

“Several people have been attacked within, the week. There are no obvious connections between any of the victims. No physical traits or common acquaintances, hobbies or work to link any of them to each other. They all seemed to be chosen at random.”

“But you did find a connection,” she stated, Molly could tell when Sherlock was on a trail.

“They all frequented clubs and pubs in this area, but they all specifically stopped here.”

“Okay, so the attacker is scoping out their victims here, but what is it about them that got them singled out?”

“A good question,” he paused, “I have not deciphered that yet. If I could determine that it would help narrow down the field of what to look for in a suspect.” The fact that he hadn’t figured it out yet clearly had him vexed. The song that was playing ended and Sherlock escorted Molly over to the bar. She ordered the same drink as before and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the name.

“What? It’s good drink, who cares if the name is suggestive, a lot of drinks have distasteful names, it’s part of the fun.”

“Apparently,” he responded dryly.

“So how were they attacked?” she asked when they were sitting back at Molly’s table against the wall.

“Raped.”

“Oh, that’s awful! It also explains why none of this has come across my path.”

“Mmm, indeed, but that’s not what is so unusual about this case,” Sherlock said in a way that was meant to pique her interest. She could tell he was excited about an oddity, he loved the strange ones.

“What’s so unusual about it?” Molly leaned forward.

“Both men and women were victims, all blindfolded, never seeing their attacker.”

“Wide range of sexual preference, that makes it more difficult, and there was no DNA evidence?”

“None, they wore protection and cleaned up the victims before releasing them, including under their nails.”

“How…thorough.”

“Exactly! They are very clever.”

“Clever, yes, but harmful, Sherlock. You shouldn’t be happy about what they’re doing,” Molly said upon seeing his smile.

“I’m not happy about what they’re doing, merely their clever method of doing so, I do like a challenge.”

“I know. Just try to keep in mind how you would feel if one of their victims was Mary or John or even me.” Molly watched as the smile slipped from Sherlock’s face and he blanched a little. She knew Sherlock preferred to not think about such things, he liked to avoid sentiment and attachments, but John had changed his previous way of thinking to some extent and Molly knew it. Sherlock could claim he was a ‘high functioning sociopath’ but the truth was Sherlock Holmes had just as much emotions and feelings as everyone else, he just chose to keep them locked up in secret place inside. Molly liked to think that his feelings had their own room in his mind palace, the doors locked for so long. Sometimes locked doors need to be opened. When John came along he had picked the lock to that room and opened the door. With the door to his feelings opened it allowed emotions out and in and those occasions when that happened were usually when Sherlock was at his most volatile, it was also when he was his most vulnerable; human like the rest of them. Just because that part of him was no longer locked away didn’t mean that Sherlock knew what to do with what he was feeling or wanting to admit to his humanity. He still needed guidance. Didn’t they all? Molly didn’t mind being one of the people to help lend that guidance and support.

“John can handle himself, so can Mary, really…” Sherlock reasoned away his fear but the idea, once planted, seemed to eat at him. Molly noticed he didn’t mention if she was capable of defending herself. Was that something Sherlock had worried about before? She hated seeing him so apprehensive.

“How can I help?” Molly asked him.

“What?”

“Is there any way I can help you?”

“With the case?”

“Sure, yeah, with the case.”

“I need to be able to study the people here but if I’m sitting here I can’t really see everyone. If I dance with other women, however, they get annoyed if I’m not giving them my full attention while dancing with them.”

“So what do you need me to do?”

“Dance with me. Allow me to circulate the dance-floor and observe without being as obvious as to what I am doing.”

“Sounds like a reasonable request. I came here to dance anyway,” she acquiesced with a small smile.

“About that…”

“Hmm?”

“When did you learn to dance the Bachata?”

“During Uni. Sometimes on weekend nights I would come out to places like this to unwind. I picked up a lot of the dances pretty easily and liked it enough to take some classes during some of my holidays. I’m surprised you know these dances, not exactly classical waltzes.”

“I thought knowing several styles of dancing would be a useful skill, so I took lessons,” he said matter-of-factly looking about the room.

“You thought learning Latin style dancing would be useful?”

“I was right, wasn’t I? It’s useful now,” he said standing up and offering her his hand. Molly quickly finished her drink and fished out the cherry, popping it in her mouth before taking his hand and letting him lead her back onto the dance-floor.

Rather than keeping the steps basic Sherlock added some more complicated steps and arm work that Molly was proud of herself for keeping up with. The style of dancing and the way it was being executed showed skill which usually always opened a bigger pocket of space for dancers, predictably it worked for Sherlock and Molly. The added space allowed them to manoeuvre better around the floor and observe the other patrons in the club without having an impeded view.

The hour was growing late, should actually be described as early morning as it was past midnight. The dance instructors had left and that meant that the skilled dancers were being admired from the side-lines by the ones not so skilled and by the beginners. Molly found the attention strange. She tried to ignore their watchful gazes and concentrate on the dance. She did find it amusing that Sherlock had managed to have people watching him while he was observing them.

“See anything?” she leaned in closer so she wouldn’t have to speak loudly.

“Not as such, no,” he sounded highly disappointed. Then his attention was grabbed by something behind her.

“What?”

“Your friend from earlier just slipped out the back exit with a woman.”

“That’s not a crime, Sherlock. Is there something about him that made you think it might be him?”

“Who leaves with someone they just met?”

“A lot of people, especially people at clubs looking for a shag.” Sherlock gave that uncomfortable face he made when the topic of sex came up in conversation.

“How many of them choose to use the back exit of a place instead of the front where they can catch a cab easier to get to doing…that quicker?”

“Do you really think it’s him?” Molly hadn’t really gotten that kind of vibe from the man when she had danced with him.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “Care to go with me out back and find out?” he said in a low voice, his mouth close to her ear.

“It’s the only way we’ll know for sure,” she agreed.

The song ended and so had their dance. Some of the couples applauded before the next song started. Sherlock wrapped his arm around Molly, his hand resting on her shoulder, and tucked her into his side. They retrieved her clutch from their table and headed for the back door. To anyone else they looked like a couple sneaking away for a private moment alone. No one even paid them any mind.

When they went out the door they did find the man Molly had been dancing with before and they did catch him in the act. The act of snogging the woman he was with senseless and was clearly planning on doing more right where they were up against the side of the building. They weren’t the only couple in the back alley which was weird to Molly but it also turned out to be a saving grace. Weird because, well, did anyone care about privacy anymore? A saving grace because when a few sets of eyes turned their way curiously it was easy for Sherlock and Molly to keep their cover.

Sherlock let out a low chuckle, a sultry one that sent pleasurable shivers crawling across Molly’s skin. He gazed at her and with a saucy smile pulled her close to him, front to front, and bent his head close to hers. She tried reminding herself that it was all pretend, all an act for the sake of a case, none of this was real, it didn’t mean anything more than a cover and Sherlock was a good actor. Still, there were some reactions that couldn’t be helped. How could she prevent her pulse from racing and her breathing from quickening when he was gazing at her the way he was? He broke the tense moment of looking into her eyes to bend down and kiss her neck. Of course the angle of the necking was chosen so he could observe the other couples, to deduce them; it didn’t make the sensation of his lips on the tender flesh of her neck any less pleasurable, however. Molly risked a side-glance and managed to see for herself that no one seemed to be in any danger from anyone else, everything happening in the alley looked consensual.

It was in the moment that Molly was looking at the others that the man she had danced with earlier looked over at her and Sherlock. Sherlock noticed them being scrutinized as well and he changed tactics again. He turned his full attention on Molly, his hand on the side of her neck then sliding up to cradle the side of her head.

“I’m sorry, but we’re being watched,” Sherlock whispered into her ear.

“I noticed,” she whispered back, “but why are you sorry?”

In response Sherlock brought his lips to hers. It started out as a mere pressing of lips, but when the contact was made it was as if someone had flipped a switch on her self-control. Molly reached up and holding his head close to hers, her fingers delving into his curls; she always wondered how that would feel. Whether he meant anything behind the kiss or not, despite his apology for it, Molly thoroughly enjoyed the kiss. She nipped at his lip with her teeth and was pleased when she felt his tongue dart out to mingle with hers. The one hand stayed entwined in his curls, but she allowed her other hand to roam, to feel his back and lower to the firm roundness of his buttock. After hardly any physical contact with Sherlock over the years this moment was making her feel more than a little giddy and high. More than that though, she could feel a heat unfurling and pooling low in her belly that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. She could feel a rivulet of sweat trickle down the channel of her spine, that did have to do with the outside temperature but also to how hot and bothered Sherlock had made her. Sherlock backed her up until her back made contact with the brick wall of the building behind her. She let out an involuntary moan of pleasure and Sherlock broke off the kiss. After gasping for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers he began nibbling at her earlobe.

“There’s nothing for us to find here. I suggest we retreat,” he whispered, his voice calculating but breathy.

“Okay, yeah,” she whispered back, trying to not sound too disappointed and to get her breathing under control.

“C’mon,” he said a little bit louder and pulled her with him out of the alley and back to the main road. Molly could see in the reflection of a window that the man she had danced with earlier looked up at them again as they walked away. As soon as they were out of line of sight Sherlock dropped his hold on Molly and put space between them. Sherlock was instantly back to being the distant man he usually was, lost in thought, his manner cool and impersonal.

Sherlock was just stepping up to the curb and raising his arm in the hope of catching a cab when Molly heard it. There was the sound of sobbing coming from somewhere so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it.

“Wait, Sherlock, do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Someone crying.”

‘Perhaps someone is distressed after imbibing too much alcohol, it is common occurrence, just ask John.”

“Yes,” Molly looked skyward at Sherlock’s comment then pressed her point, “but what if it’s someone in trouble? We have to go check, Sherlock,” she urged him. He was considering her words when they both heard the crying again.

“No, please, don’t’ do this! Please, someone, please help me!” The cries were muffled but discernable.

Quick to jump into action now Sherlock took off at a sprint following the sound of the voice. Molly ran after him, Sherlock’s longer legs carried him further faster leaving Molly in his wake. Sherlock didn’t go too far before turning down an alley. Molly heard Sherlock’s voice shout out at whoever was attacking the distressed person. Molly turned the corner only to be slammed back into the wall of the corner of the building roughly. She recovered quickly enough to put her foot out and caught the shin of the suspect that had barrelled into her hard enough to trip them up but didn’t manage to stop them completely. They took off running again and even with their newly acquired limp they were still faster than Molly in her heels.

Molly turned back into the alley to see Sherlock running up towards the other end of it after a second suspect. She also saw a woman lying on the ground with her hands tied behind her back and a black pillowcase over her head. She normally worked with the dead but Molly Hooper was still a doctor and she still had the knowledge and obligation to care for the living.

“Hey, are you okay?” Molly asked gently, letting the woman know she was friendly.

“Get this thing off of me!”

“Okay, just give me a second,” Molly told her then untied the rope at the bottom of the pillowcase that secured it to the woman’s head. Molly removed the offending cloth to reveal the woman’s tear-stained face. “Are you injured?”

“I don’t think so. They dragged me off and threw me to the ground,” the woman told her. Molly knew the woman was going into shock. She heard tires screeching and looked up to see a car peeling away from Sherlock at the end of the alley. She assured herself that he was safe from further attack before turning back to the woman to untie her hands.

“Is she all right?” Sherlock asked winded as he came jogging back to them.

“A bit shaken up but she seems okay. You?” Molly tagged on as she noticed his bleeding lip.

“Fine,” he dabbed at his lip with the back of his hand. “I hit him harder than he hit me.”

“Yours was a ‘he’?”

“Yes,” Sherlock told her but then he squinted at her as he caught the distinction of her question.

“The one I encountered was a woman,” she answered his unspoken query.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. We should call Greg,” she told him and he looked puzzled so she added, “Lestrade.”

“Oh, right, if you insist,” Sherlock said then pulled out his mobile and called the Detective Inspector. It wasn’t too long of a wait after that for them to start hearing sirens and to see flashing lights.

 

 _Oh, I really should have known_  
_By the time you drove me home_  
_By the vagueness in your eyes_  
_Your casual goodbyes_  
_By the chill in your embrace_  
_The expression on your face_  
_It told me_  
_Maybe you might have_  
_Some advice to give_  
_On how to be insensitive…insensitive…insensitive._

 

“Well, based on the method they used we’re sure she was attacked by the same the others were,” Lestrade had said as he walked back over to Molly and Sherlock after speaking with the woman who’d been attacked.

“We knew that much already,” Sherlock said sounding bored and frustrated.

“What were you two doing here tonight?” Sally Donovan asked having joined them.

“Trying to find the attackers…obviously,” Sherlock told her. Donovan just rolled her eyes at his tone then looked at Molly.

“Oh, I, um, I was helping him with his cover,” Molly explained, trying hard not to blush.

“Right,” Lestrade drew out the word as he looked confusedly back and forth between the two of them, “anyway, we’ll put out a B.O.L.O. for the vehicle you described but without plate numbers it’s not going to be easy.”

“You didn’t make the plates? You remember everything, how is it you can’t remember what the plate number was?” Donovan didn’t sound cruel or vindictive just baffled.

“They had removed the plates.”

“They are-” Molly began.

“Quite clever, yes, as I’ve said,” Sherlock finished Molly’s sentence for her.

“I was going to say thorough; they’re covering all their bases to try and hide their identity,” Molly finished her own sentence. Donovan and Lestrade were studying her and Sherlock carefully after she used tone with him.

“But they didn’t manage to hide everything tonight,” Sherlock said after a couple of beats.

“We have the rope and the pillowcase bagged for processing,” Donovan said.

“And you two are sure it was a man and a woman?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock assured him.

“Anything else?” Lestrade was clearly hoping for some Sherlockian magic.

“Not…as of yet.”

“Right, then. If you think of anything.”

“I’ll be sure to give you a call, Gage.”

“Greg.”

“Yes,” Sherlock acknowledged Lestrade’s correction in an offhanded manner. “Coming, Molly?” He was aloof and distant, his usual self.

“Sure, yeah,” Molly hurried after him, waving a farewell to Greg and Sally.

“Do you…” Sherlock started to ask her a question but then stopped.

“Do I what?”

“Do you think you could come back here and help me tomorrow evening?”

“I don’t see why not,” Molly told him, internally chiding herself for being a glutton for punishment.

“Good,” Sherlock said with a curt nod, all business.

A crowd had formed behind the police barricade and seeing some people they might see the next night Sherlock put his arm around Molly, keeping up the façade but his touch was cold, no feeling or emotion behind it, just playing pretend.

They took a cab together heading to her flat first. His eyes were distant, his thoughts miles away from his surroundings and her. He was running all the facts through his amazing brain, back in his mind palace. She looked out the window until they reached her flat.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” Molly said paying her half of the cab fare and climbing out.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, goodnight,” Sherlock said distractedly.

Molly didn’t understand how Sherlock could just turn it off like that; his feelings, his emotions, like a toggle turned to off. How was he not affected like she was after the kisses they had shared? Just thinking about it made her skin feel tingly where his lips had been, where his hands had caressed her skin. She wished she could turn it off like he could, then she wouldn’t have to feel so confused and torn up now. She showered again and went to bed knowing she’d be tossing and turning all night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a complicated dance sequence I borrowed from a movie in this chapter, if you are curious I will be putting some links in the end notes. ;) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and also to those that left kudos!

_How do you numb your skin_  
_after the warmest touch?_  
_How do you slow your blood_  
_after the body rush?_  
_How do you free your soul_  
_after you’ve found a friend?_  
_How do you teach your heart_  
_it’s a crime to fall in love again?_

 

The next night Molly had just finished getting ready when she heard someone at her door. This time she had chosen a tight fitting dress that was a brilliant hue of pink that was a shade close to being fuchsia. The top of the dress was low-cut and the bottom hem was ruffled and hit mid-thigh. She had put her hair up into a twist with a claw-clip and curled the hair that cascaded down from it. She had done her make-up like the night before.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she said opening the door. “I thought we were meeting at the club?” Sherlock was dressed in black trousers again but this time he paired them with a white shirt, the sleeves rolled again but this time nearly all the buttons were fastened. That was a shame, Molly thought. His hair had been slicked back in a suave style, although she wasn‘t sure if the style would last the night, already a curl had escaped in the front.

“I thought perhaps we could go together, discuss the plan before we get there.”

“All right, what’s the plan then?” she asked as she slipped on her shoes, chosen for their thicker and less dainty heels, functional but still fashionable, just in case there was more running involved.

“We know we’re looking for a man and woman team, they also left either before or at the same time we did based on the way they stalk their prey and execute their attacks so cleanly, and the timing of their attack.”

“Right. Okay. How can we be sure they’ll come back again after what happened last night? You don’t think they were spooked?”

“They might be hesitant, but I think they love the thrill of outwitting and overpowering people. They’re bold in their nightly conquests. They are also creatures of habit. I did some research and discovered that approximately every five years for the past decade and a half there has been a series of rapes all bearing similar patterns to the ones happening now. Always a paired team and always with the pillowcase, the rope and the sagacity to remove any biological evidence of their crime. The attacks were also always on the hottest week of the summer.”

“So based on that information we’re looking for a man and a woman around, what, mid-thirties, maybe older? Assuming they weren’t fifteen when they started.”

“Precisely.”

“So what is our plan tonight?”

“Similar to last night. At least tonight we’ve narrowed the field of suspects so we know what aspects we are looking for in the people we are scrutinizing. Also the man most undoubtedly has a bruised cheek and eye,” Sherlock smirked smugly.

“The woman might have a bruised shin, my foot connected pretty solidly when I tripped her,” Molly told him with a matching grin. Sherlock’s face first showed surprise then pride.

“Shall we?” he gestured to the door and she nodded.

The ride to the club was as quiet as the previous night’s ride home. Sherlock had the driver drop them off a block away given the amount of traffic and pedestrians. It was Saturday night and everyone seemed to be out. The heat they had been having made people lethargic during the day and restless at night.

“Something’s missing,” Sherlock said unexpectedly after walking only a few paces.

“What?” Molly queried. Instead of verbally answering her Sherlock walked up to a female vendor on the street that was selling exotic flowers at a little stand and purchased one of the beautiful pink hibiscus blooms that matched Molly’s dress perfectly. He gently tucked the flower into her hair.

“Better,” he remarked on his enhancement to her look. “It’s more you.”

“I thought we were trying to not be us tonight, undercover, working a case?” He only shrugged and turned to start walking again. She reached out and grabbed his hand, her own hand tingling at the contact, “wait, there’s something else that’s not quite right.”

“Such as?” he gently pulled his hand from hers and flexed his fingers, perhaps he had felt the same sensation. More than likely he was just uncomfortable with the atypical casual contact. She ignored his discomfort, in fact, she knew she was about to make him more uncomfortable. Molly reached toward him and unfastened nearly all of the buttons of his shirt, she left a few, not willing to have her hands that close to the front top of his trousers and…other parts. Just thinking about it made her blush. She ran her hands back up his chest up to his neck, his muscles tightening under her hands, and she fixed his collar, opening it up a bit, as a finishing touch.

“There, that’s better.”

“If you say so,” Sherlock uttered, trying to hide his discomposure.

The club was fuller than the previous night making their task a bit more difficult. There were more people to have to sift through in their scrutiny, of course, but the crowding made it harder to see through the throng to do the deducing and focus on one entire individual at a time.

“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Molly heard Sherlock say drily.

“What is it?”

“Scotland Yard.”

“Hmm?”

“George Lestrade and Donovan.”

“ _Greg_ Lestrade, Sherlock, and what about them?”

“Table in the corner,” he informed her and he was pleasantly surprised she didn’t immediately whip her head around to look like most people would. He saw her glance in that direction discreetly as he escorted her up to the bar.

“Uh, tonic water with a twist of lime.”

“Make that two,” Sherlock told the barkeep. He scanned the crowd again as they waited for their drinks.

“See any potentials?”

“Mmm, a few,” he said but didn’t elaborate. After getting their drinks she let him pick a table and was astounded when he led her over to the table next to Sally and Greg.

“Fancy meeting you two here,” Sally commented then sipped her drink, Molly guessed it was a Shirley Temple. “You look nice,” she told Molly. “You too, Freak, you clean up nice, strange that.”

“I would have done more with my hair had I known you’d be here,” Sherlock replied saucily making Greg sputter on his drink.

“And jokes too, my, this is a special occasion,” Donovan remarked.

“You know, I am working the case here,” Sherlock’s voice went back to his usual tone of disdain.

“You said this place was the key, figured we’d come and give you some back-up. Y’know, you are not actually a cop, Sherlock, we are, it’s our job to be here, to catch the bad guys,” Lestrade told him.

“Without me you wouldn’t even know where to look.”

“Still not leaving,” Lestrade smirked.

“If you insist.”

“You’d only have to call us later anyway to make the arrest,” Donovan reasoned, her fingers digging the cherry out of her drink, dangling it by the stem elegantly before finally bringing it to her mouth.

“Don’t interfere with mine and Molly’s method,” Sherlock told them after clearing his throat.

“Won’t move from this spot, until it looks like you need us,” Lestrade told him and then raised his drink in a mock salute.

“Fine. Molly?” Sherlock offered her his arm which she accepted leaving a confused but sure-to-soon-be-entertained Greg and Sally behind.

Sherlock and Molly danced another Bachata, Sherlock kept the moves basic for the time being. Molly could tell Sherlock was consulting his mind palace to determine which faces he’d seen yesterday were here today. Molly didn’t have a mind palace like Sherlock but she could still look to see if any faces looked familiar. There was the dance instructor couple, of course, as they were hired to be there, then there were some of the same couples they had tutored the night before returning for more lessons at the expense of the club. They were keeping well off to the side of the dance-floor their students forming a circle around them, well out of the way of the other dancers. There were a few repeat couples from the previous night but they were all too young. Then Molly spotted the older dancing partners from last night that had drawn a crowd with their dancing skills.

“They were here last night,” Molly told him. He spun her around so he could see who she was talking about.

“Which couple in particular?”

“Most all of the couples with the dance instructors were here last night, but I was specifically referring to the dance couple our age gaining an audience.”

“They left early last night, if I remember correctly.”

“They weren’t here when you decided to show off your dancing skills,” she told him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked glancing back to her.

“Only that they weren’t here for your exhibition.”

“Competition,” he said a little bit later, musing aloud again.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t tell if any of these couples are the right ones boxed in like this. I wonder how they’d feel about a little friendly competition?” he finished off with a sly grin.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked him with a touch of trepidation and a high degree of impishness.

The song ended and a new one began. It was familiar from one of Molly’s favourite dancing movies.

“Rhumba?” Sherlock suggested.

“I’m game,” she told him, not intimidated.

What surprised Molly, but was helpful in making the rhumba they were dancing seem more polished, was that Sherlock had apparently seen the movie as well and led her to the movie’s choreography nearly perfectly to how the characters in the film had done. It didn’t take long for Sherlock and Molly to clear a pocket again, the less skilled dancers pausing to watch. He twirled her slowly once like a ballerina, his hand raised with hers above her head, then brought her back into hold turning with her. Then he changed hold so that he held her from behind, a shadow hold, her back to his front, the warmth of his chest was pressed up against her, his breath tickling her neck, one of his hands at her waist kept her flush up against him as they moved their feet in unison, he took her for a walk for a few paces.

“Is it them?” Molly whispered to Sherlock.

He swayed them as they were pressed cheek to cheek her eyes closing, enjoying the sensation. He spun her back out then twined their right hands in a raised hold between them.

“I don’t think so. His face is unblemished, but the stage make-up he is wearing could be covering that up. She is wearing tights, a bit unusual in this heat but it does help dancers with chafing, so not so unusual,” he told her softly during one of the turns.

“She’s not limping either,” Molly pointed out.

“No, she’s not,” Sherlock said then slowly twirled her again. He turned his full attention on Molly then, his eyes no longer roaming the crowd. He draped her arm across his shoulders then brought them both into a deep and graceful straight-backed dip, one arm holding her the other raising up artistically above them, their faces so close that an inch or two more and their lips would meet. She thought for a moment he would kiss her, his half-lidded gaze flicking from her lips to her eyes and down again. Having his focus on her along with the dance and song was having a profound effect on Molly. Her body was starting to respond the way it had the night before. Rushes of heat across her skin, she felt branded where his hands had touched her. Her heart rate sped up making her feel as if it would beat out of her chest. Worse though, was that she felt they were crossing that invisible line again, the one that separated friendship from something more. Molly had nearly convinced herself when she had been with Tom that she was over Sherlock. She’d swore to herself that she wouldn’t fall for Sherlock again, knowing it was a fruitless thing to do. Funny thing though, trying to tell your heart what not to do, it rarely listened. Being in his arms like this wasn’t helping, his strange multi-hued eyes looking into hers, making her feel like he could see everything she was thinking and feeling.

He brought them both back up for a countering spin, their right arms encircling each other’s torso their left arms raising up to arc over them elegantly then slowly brought their left hands down near each other’s face in a near caress; it took an effort on her part not to lean her cheek into his hand. He spun her out again, twirled her once, his left hand joined with her right above their heads, held her in a ballroom hold for one rise and fall then led her with his hand left hand to rotate her around him, his right hand reaching behind him to guide her by the small of her back. He returned her to a closed hold with him for a few rises and falls and she inhaled the scent of his cologne, pleasant smelling with a hint of spice, masculine and exotic to her senses. Sherlock spun her out again then spinning her in, into a semi-shadowed hold, her behind him but off to the side a bit, her right arm draped across his shoulders her left held out straight with his left.. He ballerina spun her again so she was in front of him, draping both of her arms over his shoulders and he gripped her torso with his arm, lifting her feet from the ground as he spun her around. Molly revelled in the sensation of being lifted off her feet by him, his strong arm holding her to his body. He put her back on her feet still spinning, letting her pirouette once before ending back in closed hold.

It occurred to Molly, as the song ended and the others applauded and she was dragged from her own private little world she had gone to, that it had turned into a bit of a dance off between Sherlock and Molly against the other couple. Molly felt flustered at all the attention from the crowd and knew she was blushing. For a few moments she had forgotten anyone else was in the room. She turned to Sherlock and saw him nod rather than bow to the crowd and Molly gave an awkward curtsy. She was grateful when he led them back to their table.

“What the hell was that all about?” Lestrade asked them.

“Nice low profile,” Donovan threw in.

“Sarcasm?” Sherlock asked in Molly’s ear.

“Sarcasm,” she confirmed to him just as quietly. He dipped his chin once in thanks.

“Doing an investigation does not always mean slinking around in dark corners,” Sherlock told them.

“Yeah, but that was…that was,” Greg gestured to the dance-floor, his words tripping out.

“Dancing,” Sherlock supplied. “I needed to be able to see a potential suspect’s shins, it was the easiest way to get a view without tackling her to the floor.”

“Er, okay,” Lestrade looked confused and rubbed the back of his head and neck with his hand.

“Maybe I didn’t make as much contact with her when I tripped her as I thought I did?” Molly wondered.

“Perhaps. I would trust your original assessment, however. We are probably looking for someone else that fits the description just as well but showing signs of injury.”

It amazed Molly at how easily Sherlock could change his demeanour. It was almost as if she had been out on the dance-floor with an entirely different person. Gone was the warmth and the passion from moments ago, now he was the cold and calculating detective, his mind working on the problem at hand. Sherlock and Lestrade were scanning the crowd together, Lestrade pointing a couple out and Sherlock discarding the possibilities.

“I need a trip to the loo,” Sally announced before hooking her arm with Molly’s, “c’mon, Hooper.”

“Umm, okay,” Molly went with her, not being given much choice, her feet stumbling a bit.

“Hope everything comes out okay,” Greg joked crudely. Donovan made a face back at him for it and he laughed.  
When the usual business was done and taken care of in the ladies’ Sally turned to Molly and gave her an appraising look.

“What?” Molly asked as she looked up and caught the look while washing her hands.

“‘S’nothing, I was just trying to figure you out.”

“Me?”

“Mmm. Y’see, I thought I had you figured out, thought I had Sherlock figured out too, but I’m not so sure about him either right now.”

“Why?”

“That dance,” she pointed her chin toward the door, “that was something else.”

“It was just a dance,” Molly tried brushing it off.

“No, the Macarena and the Electric Slide are just dances, what you and Sherlock just did was much more than that.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“I beg to differ. That was art, it was heat and, and _passion_! I didn’t even think that Sherlock had that in him, unless he’s got a corpse in front of him,” she added with a pondering tilt of her head. “But he has passion for you, _with_ you.”

“It was acting, he’s good at pretending,” Molly told her. She wanted to believe Sally but she knew better. Sherlock was good at playing a part, but that’s all it was to him, a role to be played, all part of the game.

“If you say so,” Sally scoffed, “but Greg’s got the video to prove otherwise.”

“He filmed us?!”

“About two minutes of pure gold,” she grinned.

“Oh god!” Molly hid her face in her hands.

“Don’t know what you’re upset about, wish I could dance like that.”

Molly used some cold water from the tap to try and cool her neck, it didn’t really help. Now, she found, she was more confused and mixed up than before.

 

 _Oh, he probably won’t remember me._  
_It’s probably ancient history._  
_I’m one of the chosen few_  
_Who went ahead and fell for you._  
_I’m out of vogue_  
_I’m out of touch_  
_I fell too fast_  
_I feel too much_  
_I thought that you might have_  
_Some advice to give one how to be insensitive…_

 

“I think that couple might be our perps after all,” Lestrade told both women when they re-joined him and Sherlock.

“Oh?” Molly asked, trying to control the pitch of her voice; the things Sally had said were still running rampant through her mind.

“They’ve been chatting up a young woman and it doesn’t appear they are talking about dancing…on the dance floor,” Greg said smirking at his innuendo. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders looked tense.

“We following them if they leave with her?” Donovan asked.

“Yeah,” Greg answered her.

“Will you be all right getting home?” Sherlock asked Molly without looking at her.

“I’m a big girl, Sherlock, I can catch a cab all on my own.” He turned around at her tone and studied her but said nothing. After a moment of scrutiny he turned back to watch the couple they were suspicious of. Greg and Sally were giving Molly a look but she ignored them.

“They’re leaving with her,” Sherlock said and they all turned to watch the dancing couple go to the front door with the woman they had chatted up.

“You sure about this?” Donovan questioned. Molly wasn’t sure who she was asking but Sherlock answered her.

“No, but if we don’t follow them and that woman becomes the next victim…”

“It’s my judgement call,” Lestrade said, “something about them seems off to me.”

“Okay, then, lead the way, boss. See ya later, Hooper.”

Greg waved in adieu and led Sally out, following an impatient Sherlock. Molly gathered her clutch and headed out as well. There was no point in staying at the club anymore; her heart just wasn’t into dancing with someone else. She made her way around the floor and headed for the door. She had almost made it to the front exit when something caught her attention. The dance instruction couple had just reached the back exit that Molly and Sherlock had gone out the previous night. That wasn’t what had really caught her focus, what did was the slight limp to the woman’s gait. As Molly moved closer she could see the man was wearing make-up, as they had assumed the attacker would have to have been wearing. The make-up was well done and would not have been noticeable unless you were close and looking for it. The woman was wearing black skin-tight leggings. Molly’s instincts screamed at her that this was the couple they were looking for. They had been resourceful until now, hiding the evidence of their injuries, using their students as a shield, it was most likely fatigue that caused the woman to slip up and show her limp now. Unsure of what to do but not wanting them to get away Molly sent off a quick text to Sherlock.

 _‘You have the wrong couple, it’s the dance instructors! Using back exit. Will follow them until you arrive'_. – MH

Molly went to the back exit. She knew she’d look odd amongst the snogging couples as she was alone this time, but she didn’t really have much of a choice. Once outside she was relieved to see that no one was currently partaking in the snog-alley. The alley was, in fact, empty, devoid of anyone, including the dance instructors. They had only just gone out the door, they couldn’t have gotten too far. She looked around but didn’t see any evidence to which way they might have gone. She listened for footsteps but didn’t hear any. She chose to go in the opposite direction from yesterday, most likely to the place where their vehicle was parked the previous night. Chances were they had parked in the same place if it was convenient.

Molly had just stepped out from the alley when she was assaulted. They must have been waiting against the buildings on either side of the alley, waiting for her. They most probably figured out what she and Sherlock were doing and when Sherlock had followed the wrong couple they laid out a trap, and Molly was the prize. If she had the time to berate herself for getting herself into such a mess she would have but as it was she did not. Arms like vices gripped her tight, wrapped securely around her, pinning her arms to her sides. They didn’t bother with the pillowcase, why bother when she had already made them? She also knew, in a dark recess of her mind, that it meant that they had no intention of letting her go alive. Molly kicked out but couldn’t connect because of the way she was being held.

“Feisty one, ain’t she?” the man guffawed. Molly could smell his sour breath and she cringed.

“Oh, I owe you something, bitch! Hold her still,” the woman commanded. Molly felt a stinging pain as the woman’s foot connected with her shin. The man’s hand clamped over her mouth stifling her cry of pain. He seemed to be enjoying holding her tight while his partner circled around them like an animal on the prowl. She would occasionally touch Molly softly making her cringe then violently slap her in the same spot. It was all sport; they were toying with her before the endgame. Molly was fully aware of how dire her circumstances were and she tried running through her options of escape in her mind. She was sure Sherlock would have come up with multiple options by now but all she had were meagre defence strategies that wouldn’t work and hopes for a rescue and thoughts of Sherlock.

Where was Sherlock? Had he not gotten her text? Was he too busy being angry that he had gotten it wrong with the couple they had followed he had closed himself off and not checked his messages? He’d probably not even given her a second thought after leaving with Lestrade and Donovan. Sherlock had once told her she was the one that mattered the most to him; did that statement still hold true? Was that something that still applied to how he felt about her or was it a feeling buried in the past? Was what he said then ever true? She was sure at the time it was but if she meant that much to him why hadn’t he come to assist her yet?

Molly was scared to the point of thinking this was truly going to be the end for her when she heard feet pounding hard on the pavement and a yell that was more animalistic growl than human. The man that was holding her went down and she toppled over with him. His grasp was released from around her and she rolled away. The woman moved to help the man and Molly threw a punch that landed perfectly and knocked the woman on her arse. Donovan took over tackling the woman and cuffing her. Molly looked over at the man to see Sherlock, in an angry frenzy, punching the man then pushing him down to land face-down on the ground and pinning him there. Lestrade cuffed the man and held him while Sherlock staggered over to Molly where she was sitting on the ground.

“Molly, are you all right?” Sherlock asked. She could still see it in his eyes, a few moments ago it was mixed with anger but now it was mixed with concern – fear. There was fear in Sherlock’s eyes as he watched her carefully, waiting for her reply.

“I- I think I’m fine,” she told him and he sighed and helped her to stand. They could hear the sirens and the squealing tires and see the flashing lights.

“Sorry we were not here sooner,” Sherlock apologized, “I couldn’t hear my mobile over the yelling from Lestrade’s ‘suspects’. They weren’t too happy about being accused of wrong doing. They were having consensual sex in public with the woman they picked up but that’s beside the point. I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. You got here in time,” Molly told him as she brushed dirt off herself.

“We nearly didn’t,” Sherlock looked a bit like a kicked puppy. It was not what she was used to seeing in him, not over her anyway. John and Mary maybe, but not her. It was the hurt look he had when John wasn’t looking. She always wondered why he let her see it, the vulnerability, and not John. She had once told him it was because she didn’t count; he’d told her later that she did count, that she’d always counted. She often wondered if that was just him saying what he thought he should say in order to gain her help or if, to him, she did count. Lately she didn’t know what to think when it came to Sherlock. His attitude towards her, towards anyone really, changed so frequently and to such varying degrees of emotional to detached it was hard to keep up. His attitude changed with the ease of a flip of a coin. As if someone had flipped that proverbial coin Molly watched as Sherlock’s face turned stoic, his feelings locking away behind a blank mask.

“Sherlock, Molly,” Lestrade walked back over to them after the suspects had been loaded into the back of the police cars, “you two okay?”

“I’m fine,” Molly responded too quickly making Greg look at her dubiously.

“Maybe you should go to Barts, make sure-”

“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Sherlock stated, his voice cool and detached.

Lestrade and Donovan asked the questions they needed to and afterwards Sherlock did as promised and ensured she got home safely. He didn’t say anything on the ride over again and she found his cold and distant demeanour even more bothersome. Once again she really wished she could detach herself from her emotions and feelings like he could. Why couldn’t he teach her how to do that?

After the night that she’d had Molly’s feelings were all in a turmoil. She was frightened from the ordeal of being attacked, she was still hot and bothered from the dance she’d shared with Sherlock. She was confused as all get-out from his reaction and she knew that through it all she was now more in love with Sherlock than she ever had been before.

Of course Molly knew she wasn’t the only one to lose her heart to Sherlock. There was John, of course, that bond was like the love of two brothers, but Molly knew John had a difficult time of the relationship sometimes. Then there was Greg who had been downright miserable when he thought Sherlock was dead, not just because of the career impact but because he missed his friend. Mrs. Hudson loved Sherlock like an unruly child, as if he were her own, unconditionally. There was Mary, she and Sherlock got along really well for some reason; she just seemed to get him and handled him well. There was also The Woman, John had eventually filled Molly in about her. Molly knew Sherlock had had feelings for Irene Adler but had never divulged the extent of those feelings. From what John had told her there had been some kind of connection there. Then there was Janine; the rather gorgeous woman had fallen for a relationship based on a lie. No, Molly wasn’t alone in caring for Sherlock, even though he wasn’t the easiest person to entrust with one’s heart. It usually resulted in an ache in her chest.

In the quiet rooms of her flat Molly felt even more unsettled. She kept thinking about him and his hot and cold attitude. What it felt like to feel his lips pressed to hers, to have his hands caress her, to feel his body pressed up against hers. She took a shower, letting the water soothe her sore body and wash away the sweat and grime from the dancing and the attack. It was after she had scrubbed herself clean and rinsed off that the tears came.

It was system overload; her own psyche giving her a release from the emotional rollercoaster of the past two days. She felt too much and it was all boiling over now. Why couldn’t she just learn to relish the good moments they had had and leave it at that; to block out all of the bad and just count herself lucky for surviving relatively unscathed and to have had some amazing moments with the man she’d had a crush on for years? Probably because Sherlock had made quick work of making her fall in love with him all over again, harder and deeper than before and she wasn’t wired like he was, she did feel everything, all the bad and the good and the parts that couldn’t quite be described. Right now she hated it. Why did she have to feel this way? Why couldn’t she just feel numb?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Rhumba scene in this I borrowed from Strictly Ballroom to the song Perhaps, Perhaps Perhaps by Doris Day. If you haven't seen it I highly recommend it. It's a fun and lovely movie. This is the song and dance scene I used. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1PLJRYAL5Q
> 
> Because the dance in the movie was interrupted at the end I used some of the practise scenes, specifically in this clip at 12:37 to finish it off. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYeBLcAwX1A
> 
> The next and final chapter is pretty much pure smut. Thanks for reading, hope to see you in the last. As always feedback is much appreciated and welcome! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to up the rating after I realized this chapter was going to be a lot more graphic than I had originally intended. Just covering the bases. If you think it should be bumped back down to Mature let me know. 
> 
> There is, once again, another dance scene from a movie in this chapter. Song and movie clip link in the end notes. ;)
> 
> Anyway, final chapter, yay! Thank you all for the reads and kudos and reviews, they mean a lot to me! Hope you enjoy! :)

_Oh, I really should have known_  
_By the time you drove me home,_  
_By the vagueness in your eyes,_  
_Your casual goodbyes,_  
_By the chill in your embrace,_  
_The expression on your face_  
_That told me maybe you might have_  
_Some advice to give_  
_On how to be insensitive._  
_How to be…insensitive_  
_How to be…insensitive._  
_How to be…_

 

It was still absurdly hot, outside and inside when Molly stepped from her shower and dried off. She put on a matched set of breathable material knickers and bra (she hated going bra-less in heat like this, it made skin touching skin intolerable) and threw on one of her nightdresses that was more of a shift, it covered the parts that it needed to but not much more. It was too hot for any more material than that. She had stopped crying too, but still felt miserable. Toby was lying on the cool tile of the kitchen floor panting. She retrieved a frozen chicken broth cube from the icebox for him and placed it on a saucer. That would keep him occupied and cool him off at least. She opened the windows of her flat letting in the slightly cooler night air. There was finally a breeze and Molly thought she could hear thunder in the distance. She turned on the telly to the weather station to find out she wasn’t mistaken; the radar showed a line of storms headed in. The meteorologist said it was a front that would help break the heatwave. She was about to switch off the television and turn in when she heard someone at her door. There weren’t many people who would visit her this late. She had a feeling she knew who it would be and she both dreaded and wished for it to be him.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Sherlock’s deep, velvet voice replied. Molly thought about getting a wrapper before opening the door but she was too hot to add more clothing and she was more covered than if she were wearing a bathing suit, and besides, it wasn’t as if it would bother or have an impact on Sherlock with what she was or wasn’t wearing. She shrugged in a ‘what the hell, who cares’ gesture and opened the door.

“It’s late, Sherlock.”

“You’re still awake.”

“I might have been asleep.”

“Your lights were on and you only just opened your windows for air.”

“Were- were you spying on me?!”

“Merely ascertaining whether or not you were awake by the light of your windows is not spying. You happened to open your windows while I was checking.”

“I think you need to relearn the definition of spying,” Molly said in an undertone. “Fine. Whatever,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What is it you came over here for that couldn’t wait until morning?”

“I-” Sherlock began then froze as he finally looked at Molly and her scrap of a nightgown.

“Sherlock?” Molly tried snapping him out of whatever trance he was in.

“Hmm?”

“You came here for…?”

“To make sure you were all right,” he said after a deep breath and a few blinks. “Also, Lestrade is supposed to be on the television shortly. I went back and he was giving a press conference.” Sherlock seemed normal, for him, again, as if the freezing for nearly a minute was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Okay…” Molly turned the channel to the news, “but you could have just called or sent me a text.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock conce8ded, “but I didn’t trust such an…impersonal method if you truly were in distress.”

“Truly wondering if I was in distress shows sentiment. Since when do you deal in sentiment?” _At least to me_ , she added in her head.

“Since I’ve learned that while it is true that sentiment can be a weakness it can also be a strength.”

Molly wasn’t sure what to say to that or even what to make of it, and while she considered it the news report about the arrest of two rapists came on the telly. Greg personally thanked both Sherlock and her. It felt strange hearing him say her name at a press conference, even stranger to hear her name paired with Sherlock’s instead of John’s. As soon as the news story ended Sherlock’s mobile chimed.

“John?” Molly hazarded a guess.

“Mmm, congratulating me on solving the case and wondering how you were involved,” Sherlock said as he was typing back a response. Molly was curious to know what Sherlock was responding with and voiced her query. “That you helped provide a cover while investigating at the club,” Sherlock said simply, the response obvious to him.

“Yes, but what will you say if he asks you specifically how?”

“What do you mean? You were at the club, you helped me, that’s explanatory enough.”

“If you say so,” Molly sighed, too weary to explain to him that John would want details; he’d find out on his own in a minute or two. It ended up being less than that as it turned out, Sherlock’s mobile chiming again almost instantly. Molly couldn’t help but smirk at Sherlock’s puzzled frown. She waited for him to finish typing before asking, “so what did you tell him?”

“That we met there and you helped me blend in by going as my dance partner.”

“Ah.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Yes, it is.” It was also impersonal and left out all that had transpired. The bare minimum description of what the past two nights had been like. It was so like Sherlock to phrase it that way though. To dismiss any possibility of any kind of connection or intimacy they might have shared so easily. To do that right after saying he was attempting to deal in sentiment made her head spin. Well, at least he had admitted that they had danced.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if you are upset.”

“You’re right, but I’m exhausted from what happened and I just, I’m sorry, I don’t have the patience and ability to deal with everything,” she waved her arms in an all-encompassing gesture, “right now.”

“'Everything' meaning me?”

“One minute you’re telling me you came here out of sentiment, acting like the human that you are and the next you’re texting John, acting like what happened the past two nights were just humdrum regular events. That nothing major happened to you or I. So, in my current state, I’m having a hard time keeping up. I mean, goodness, a person could get whiplash trying to keep up with you. I’m not an insensitive person. I’m not a high-functioning sociopath, and I don’t mean that as an insult,” she added quickly. “I just mean I’m not like you, Sherlock, I can’t not feel. I feel way too much right now, so unless you have some trick, some way to teach me how to turn off my feelings, just accept that I am an emotional being, and right now I’m on system overload. I don’t know how to turn it all off like you do.”

“I choose to turn my feelings off because they are a distraction to my work. That is a choice I make to ensure my mind is clear and unclouded by mawkishness and any other _feelings_ that might arise,” Sherlock said the word ‘feelings’ though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Fine. I get that, Sherlock. I understand that is your process and it works for you, really, I do. But then, why are you here, going against your M.O., as it were? You are contradicting yourself.”

“The case is over. I have nothing currently to worry about being distracted from. The distraction is welcome.”

“Is that what I am, a welcome distraction?” Molly knew she had caught Sherlock off-guard in his blunder. She knew that he didn’t mean for his statement to sound so derogatory in any way, but she still felt the need to call him out on it. How else would he ever learn?

“Yes,” Sherlock drew out the word while he considered what to say next, “but not in the way I believe you are interpreting it.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“While working on the case I found myself distracted by you to the point where I had lost focus and as a result you were attacked.” Sherlock looked at Molly after saying this and noticed the confused look on her face and continued on to explain what he meant. “I was attempting to distance myself from the distraction of you and if I’d just let it be and trusted my instincts and yours then what happened…it shouldn’t have happened to you. I shouldn’t have let it happen and-“

“Don’t apologize for that again, Sherlock,” Molly interrupted.

“Fine, but it won’t change the fact that I am at least partially to blame for you being in danger.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said his name as a warning.

“My point is that, for once, my trust in my senses and my trust in you faltered because I let my fear of what I was feeling, despite my attempts to not feel, get in the way. Those attempts at trying to push away what I was feeling, pushing you away, put you in danger, but I digress.”

Molly took a silent moment to try and understand his statement and its’ repercussions. She opened her mouth to speak a few times and re-closed it, not sure where to begin.

“So…what now?” she finally asked. She knew that this was a new experience for Sherlock and whatever he chose to do next had to be just that, _his_ choice. It didn’t escape Molly’s observation that in some things Sherlock needed to be handled with kid gloves.

“I…don’t, I don’t know. I just, I want, I want…”Sherlock sounded so uncertain and unsure of himself. He stepped closer to Molly until they were toe to toe. She had to tip her head up to look at him. His face was contorted in a mask of indecision and then it went blank again. Molly was about to turn away in exasperation when Sherlock quickly grabbed her by the arms, his hands on her elbows and pulled her against him, his lips pressed against hers. At first she was so shocked she didn’t react. This wasn’t a show for a cover on a case, this was real. Sherlock’s skill at kissing was impressive considering it wasn’t a talent he used often. This wasn’t like the kiss shared in the alley, it wasn’t a performance, and Molly could almost understand what Sherlock was trying to say that he didn’t know how to verbalize. At least, she thought she understood, who really knew with Sherlock? After that thought she stopped thinking so much.

Sherlock lightly bit her lip which made her moan softly and open her mouth to allow the kiss to deepen, for their tongues to vie for dominance. Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her, crushing her body fully to his. One of Molly’s hands roamed his back while the other found one of her new favourite feelings of her fingers in his mop of curls. He growled when her hand reached the back of his head at the nape of his neck. One of his hands roved down to her hip which he gripped and held steady while his own pelvis pressed against hers. The feel of his obvious arousal against her, even through the fabric of his trousers, made her gasp in surprise.

The reaction she gave was one of disbelief but it made Sherlock give pause. He seemed so uncertain of himself and he retreated. His reaction was so fast and her own system was still in shock so she didn’t respond fast enough to stop him from bolting out the door. By the time she got her own feet and legs to cooperate he had quite a lead on her. She didn’t have time to cover up and she really didn’t give it much thought. Molly heard a loud rumble of thunder as she ran down the hallway staircase, the sound echoing the sound of her heart in her chest. Another flash of lightning and roll of thunder was like an announcement of the rain as it began to fall in a torrent. Molly ran out into it to run after Sherlock who was just up the street, not too far away.

“Sherlock!” Molly called out his name and he froze. “Sherlock, please!”

Sherlock turned around at her pleading. His face was unreadable but his eyes, to Molly his eyes were the windows to his soul; they showed fear and uncertainty but they still showed his passion and she was sure that was what had scared him. The rain had completely soaked his shirt and it dripped from his hair. Rather than spooking him with words or being too forceful she held out her hand to him, palm up, in an invitation to come back, to take the risk whatever the night would bring. A bright flash of lightning lit up his face and his turquoise eyes, but he didn’t flinch, not even when the crack of thunder warned them that the bolt had been too close for comfort. The lights on the street went out, plunging the whole area into darkness. Sherlock closed the gap between them and gently took Molly’s hand.

Molly carefully led him back inside and up the dark stairwell to her apartment. She didn’t let go of his hand but closed and locked the door with her other hand. Sherlock allowed her to lead him to the loo to fetch a couple of towels. She traversed her flat by memory, it was really too dark to see anything. Molly was thankful Toby hid during storms so he wouldn’t be under foot. Once in the bathroom she lit some of the candles she had about for when she took her bubble baths. She began to dry herself off with one of the towels but noticed he had not begun to do the same with the one she had handed him. He was standing still, watching her every move, water dripping off of him and onto the tiled floor. Molly tossed her own towel in the hamper, she was as dry as she would get until she removed her soaked nightclothes.

“Sherlock?” Molly prodded gently. He was still watching her but he was so unresponsive she wondered if he was really in his mind palace. She sighed and took the towel he held loosely in his hand and, with the patience she swore earlier she didn’t have, she began to dry him off. She started with his head, rubbing the towel, drying his hair, and feeling utterly strange at the sensation of mothering Sherlock, that he was allowing her to care for him. His shirt was plastered to him with rain water. She slung the towel over the sink to free her hands to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock’s hands moved up quickly to gently encircle her wrists, halting her from the task.

“Nothing has to happen, Sherlock,” she told him. His facial expression after she said that was contradictive, he looked both relieved and disappointed. “Nothing has to happen unless you want it to happen.” Sherlock opened his mouth and breathed in as if he were going to say something but then closed his mouth again. He let go of her wrists and Molly unbuttoned his shirt, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. She tried to keep her ministrations clinical but inside she felt like she was vibrating. She wasn’t an inexperienced person but seeing Sherlock’s naked chest was a whole new territory, made all the more enticing by the rivulets of moisture dripping down it, glistening in the candlelight. Her hands may have been attempting to dry off Sherlock in a non-sexual way but her eyes drank in every bit of skin they could see.

Molly loved the curve of muscle formed by his pectorals and the ripple of his abdominals. She rubbed the towel on his neck, his strong arms which he held limply at his sides, across his chest and torso and finally she dried his back. She took care to try and control her breathing, making sure she was doing all she could to not spook him again. Where was the Sherlock that was always so sure of himself, learned in all things? This was Sherlock in unknown territory and Molly knew that made him uncomfortable. She walked back around him to face him again. His eyes followed her and looked at her from head to toe. It made her very aware that her gown was still wet and clinging to her own skin, to all her curves, not leaving much to the imagination.

“Do you want me to, ah, go fetch some of your clothes out of the spare room? I still have them here from before from when…well, you know,” she said awkwardly handing him the towel which he tossed onto the sink and she made to go do what she said when she looked up at him again and froze.

Molly felt as if the atmosphere in the room had changed again. She was back on uneven keel when she saw the hungry look in his eyes. Perhaps, she amended to herself, they were both back on the same page. Oh, there was still a hint of fear in his eyes but to a lesser degree than before, other things seemed to be winning over. Molly couldn’t help her breath from hitching when he stepped closer to her; stalking her like prey was a more accurate description. The change in his mood again reminded her of that whiplash analogy she was pondering earlier. Molly stood stock-still and watched as Sherlock closed the gap between them and leaned down to her, once again pressing his lips to hers. It wasn’t a chaste kiss but it wasn’t like the kiss before earlier, both of them were holding back, waiting for the other to see if they would escalate. Sherlock broke the kiss and studied Molly’s face. She was sure that what he saw was a jumble because she was now more confused by him than ever before.

“Molly,” Sherlock spoke her name, his voice somehow even deeper than normal, the vibration of it gave her pleasurable shivers. She waited for him to continue, she knew the look on his face now that showed he had more to say but he was choosing carefully how to phrase it. “Molly, I do…want it. I’ve never let that need control me. I’ve never… I just,” he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m just…afraid of letting go. That if I let go of my control I’ll lose myself, that I’ll be different, not me. Does that make any sense?” he tried to explain his trepidation.

“It does make sense. I wouldn’t let you forget who you are and what you can do. Doing…things, trying new things, doesn’t change who you are fundamentally, Sherlock. If you ever did get lost I’d find you,” She smiled gently at him, a smile she was surprised to see he easily returned. “Like I said, though, you don’t have to do anything you don’t really want to do.”

“Do you?” she knew he was asking her if she wanted to. It somehow made her feel younger, untried, as if it was the first time for both of them, but also giddy and bold.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” she told him and from his crooked smile she knew he did. He kissed her again then, pulling her body against him and nearly lifting her off her feet in his effort to press her body to his. His tongue mingled with hers. She could feel his newly returned arousal pressed against her abdomen. Sherlock broke the kiss again, both of them gasping for air, forehead pressed to forehead.

“I want you, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock made his declaration, his deep voice sensuous, his eyes smouldering. He said it to her, letting her know his desire that she could already feel, but perhaps also as an edict to himself, a resolution made. He breathed deep, a calming breath that expanded his lungs fully, holding it then let it go slowly. He kissed her forehead, a kind gesture but lacking in passion and once again Molly was unsure of what Sherlock’s intentions were. He released her and turned to pick up the towel from the sink. “Are there more candles in your room?”

“A, uh, a few, yeah.”

“Bring the lighter then,” he said then picked up one of the lighted jar candles and carried it ahead of him like a torch. Molly grabbed the lighter and followed him to her bedroom. He set the candle down in a safe place on her bureau then located the other candles. He reached out his hand and she gave him the lighter. Once he lit the candles he turned to look at her again.

“Do you want me to get some of your dry clothes for you?”

He didn’t answer her, instead snooping in the drawer of her nightstand, nodding, and then oddly kneeling down to look under her bed.

“Where’s Toby?”

“Under the couch, it’s his usual hiding spot during storms. So, erm, clothes?” she asked again.

“No.” A flash of lightning lit the room, lighting his face fully, his expression was one of firm determination. He walked past her and paused at her bedroom doorway then, after a moment where he took one of those calming breaths again, he swiftly closed the bedroom door. When he turned around again he looked at her with so much desire in his eyes Molly had to take one of those calming breaths.

Through the walls and the open window they could hear music coming from Molly’s neighbour. The music was older but loud, the sound of a battery-powered wireless cranked up as high as it would go.

“My neighbour, she’s old. She doesn’t like when the power goes out, it’s too dark and too quiet,” Molly explained the sudden music.

“It’s not unwelcome,” Sherlock told her. She had to agree, the music helped lighten the tension in the room. Sherlock was still struggling with himself and seemed nervous, not something he was used to being. A new song came on and the atmosphere in the room shifted again. It was a song from a dance movie and after two days of dancing with Sherlock Molly couldn’t help but find humour in the irony in the song that had just come on. She let out a small giggle.

“Do you know this one too?” Sherlock asked her.

“You mean the scene from the movie?” she asked him and he nodded in answer, “yes.” Sherlock still hadn’t moved so Molly used the song and shared knowledge to her advantage. “‘Dance with me’,” she quoted the scene. Sherlock’s lip quirked up in a nervous but amused grin.

“‘What, here?’” he played along.

“‘Here.’”

“Sherlock went with it, emulating the scene and dance was easier for him than going into this completely spontaneous. It wasn’t quite what Molly had imagined for how this moment would go but if it helped get things started and lessened Sherlock’s discomfiture then for now it would suffice, at least until the song ended.

Molly stepped up to Sherlock and pressed her small hands against his bare chest and then slid them up to his shoulders. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. He moved his arms to hold her to him as they swayed a little bit to the music. He bent his knees in a dip bringing her with him and positioned them so she was practically straddling his leg when they stood straight again. He held onto her torso as she slowly, and providing a sensual view of her throat and breasts, tipped her head back. She slid her arms down his biceps as she did so. He slowly brought her back up and then, using his leg in between hers as a fulcrum point, he tipped her back again but with a swinging motion before bringing her back up again. The point of contact of her pelvis against his leg was creating pleasurable pressure. She looped her arms around his neck. He kept one hand at her back, letting the other hang loose as he started swaying them forwards and back, him bending over her then she over him a few times. It felt like he was really loosening up, getting into the moment. He had pressed her chest close to his, both arms wrapped around her. She kissed him on the neck, across his throat, on his adam’s apple, tasting the saltiness of his sweat mixed with rain. His eyes closed in pleasure. He swayed them side to side gently again then lifted her leg to hook onto his hip tipping her back as he did so, his pelvis grinding against hers a little before bringing her back up again. Molly stood up fully and brought her mouth close to his, his breath feathering across her face. Instead of kissing him on the lips she kissed his shoulder, walked around him slowly and kissed his shoulder blade, his spine, and his other shoulder blade; her hands caressing the trail her lips had travelled. When she made to finish her loop around him she brought her hand low, her palm cupping his buttock, her fingertips tracing the curve of his bottom where it met his thigh.

He was giving her that look again, the kind that made her feel as if she would suddenly burst into flames from the intensity of his gaze. He lifted her arms over her head and she held them there as he ran his hands back down them and to her waist to gather up the material of her nightdress. He pulled it up and off of her, the motion making his ribcage expand and rub against hers. He tossed the soaked garment to the floor and cupped her bottom holding her in place while he grinded against her again. He took a moment to look at her. Now only clad in her bra and knickers and made a low growling noise before kissing her again hungrily, his tongue slipping inside her mouth. He nibbled on her bottom lip then broke the kiss, dipping her back again twice, using his leg as a fulcrum between hers again. The move afforded Sherlock a nice view of Molly’s breasts clad only in her brazierre. When he guided her back upright she ran her hands up his torso and across his pecks, the pebbled peaks of his nipples an interesting feel under her palms. She continued her caress up to the nape of his neck then the back of his head, delving her fingers into his hair. He ran his hands down her sides, his fingers grazing the sides of her breasts. She pulled his head down to her as he brought his hands up her back to grip her shoulders from behind. She tipped her head back and he kissed his way along her collarbone, then up her throat, under her chin, near her jaw below her ears, then finally back to her lips.

It was then that the song faded to an end and they were out of scene to semi-re-enact. Another song started but after hearing loud banging that could only be another nieghbour’s way of complaining about the loud music the radio was turned down and the music was now too low to discern what it was.

Sherlock seemed unsure of himself again, with nothing for reference to guide him.

“Just be you,” Molly told him. “I want you, Sherlock Holmes, as you are. It’s always been you.”

Sherlock let out a shaky breath with a relieved smile then kissed her again. His hand roamed down to cup her bum then travelled the back of her thigh, bringing her knee back up to hook on his hip again. The feel of his arousal so close to where she longed for it to be was driving her crazy. Molly kissed her way down his neck, Sherlock straightened his back and she lavished his chest with her tongue, trailing the tip of her tongue in the valley between his pecks. She placed a reverent kiss upon the scar on his chest and heard him release a shaky breath. She kissed her way back up across his peck to circle his nipple with her tongue, raising it to a taught peak then repeating the gesture to the other one. She lightly bit down on it and heard him hiss air between his teeth.

Sherlock’s belt was cutting into Molly’s thigh uncomfortably where she had her knee still up on his hip. She lowered her leg and looked up at Sherlock as she unbuckled the strap of leather, pulling it out of the loops of his trousers, tossing it off to the side on the floor. She ran her palm along the bulge in the front of his trousers, drawing forth a moan from Sherlock. He was so engorged now he was straining at the material at the zipper and fastenings. Molly carefully undid both bringing Sherlock some relief. She slid his trousers down, he helpfully kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the trousers, leaving them to join her gown in a sopping wet pile on her floor.

Molly kissed Sherlock’s chest again, following the dusting of hair that trailed down his abdomen with her mouth, placing feather-light kisses all along the path until she was kneeling in front of him. She could see his cock twitch in his pants in anticipation. She kissed his hip right above the waistband of his boxer-briefs. She peeled his socks off and added them to the pile of discarded clothing. She looked up to see Sherlock’s hooded gaze following her every move carefully. She ran her hands up his hard thighs and to the waistband of his pants, carefully pulling the elastic away from his manhood and pulling the underwear down his legs and off, leaving him completely naked in front of her. He was well groomed, not surprising to her given it was Sherlock. He was also quite sizable compared to what she had experience with, not abnormally large but not quite average either, just slightly more so. She ran her hands on his hips along the ridge known as Apollo’s belt then stationed her hands on his hips to hold him steady. She blew air on him, her breath mixed with the moisture from the rain causing a cooling sensation that made him shiver. She gently kissed the rounded tip of his penis then trailed the tip of her tongue from the base to the tip along the underside, the skin was as soft as silk. His cock twitched again at her teasing. She looked up at him as she took him in her mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, his breathing turned stuttered. She used her right hand to grip the rest of his length she didn’t fit in her mouth. His fingers threaded through her hair, but he had enough restraint to not force her head further onto him. She could feel his hips start to motion forward out of instinct but her other hand held him steady. She hummed, letting the vibration of her voice travel along him and he gasped in pleasure but pulled her hair back enough to guide her off of him.

Sherlock urged Molly to rise back to her feet by cupping the back of her head gently and guiding her up. He kissed her deeply again, stealing her breath. His hands caressed from her neck down her shoulders to her back, to the band of her bra. The hooks confounded him for a moment and she reached behind with one hand to unhook it. He kissed her shoulder after sliding the strap of the bra down and slid the garment off. He continued his soft kisses from her shoulder down to her breast, finally taking her pert nipple into his mouth, suckling until it was a rosy peak, fully awake to his touch. He repeated the attention on her other nipple, and like she did to him, gently nibbling the sensitive peak. He kissed her while backing her toward the bed, stopping when the bed was at the back of her legs. He slid his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, kneeling down to slide them off. She could feel his breath on her genitalia, sending tingles along her limbs.

Sherlock ran his hands up Molly’s thighs, one hand moving to the inside when he got to the top. One hand braced at her hip the other cupping her at the apex. His long fingers traced her slit, his middle finger slowly slid into her vagina. His thumb slid up to rub her clitoris. Her hips bucked at the contact, begging for more friction. He added his index finger with his middle curling them inside of her a little, trying to find that elusive spot Molly was sure Sherlock had read about in some journal or other. He used his thumb to hold her labia to the side. He gently kissed her swollen mound, then pulled her bud of pleasure into his mouth gently nipping it with his teeth. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her. Her reaction made Sherlock laugh a deep-toned snicker. The sound sending incredible vibrations to her parts. Her legs were trembling and Molly could still feel her bed against the back of her legs. When Sherlock moved his mouth away from her folds and withdrew his hand she sat down on the bed before she collapsed.

Molly scooted herself up to the pillows and Sherlock crawled up the bed with her. He kissed a line back up her belly, he explored the area under each breast, fascinated by the crease under them and the valley between them, lapping at the moisture from the rain and sweat attached to her skin. Molly reached down and stroked Sherlock’s erection until he gasped then gripped her wrist stilling her motion. For a moment Molly was worried that Sherlock was having doubts. He moved away from her to the side of the bed. Then he opened her nightstand drawer and withdrew a condom from the box she kept there. So that’s why he had been snooping earlier, she surmised. Relieved, she smiled at him as he moved back over to her. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper and she took it from him, carefully opening the package and then rolling the condom onto his swollen member.

Molly looked up at Sherlock’s face after sheathing his penis in protection. If she thought his expression had looked hungry before then what she saw now were the glowing hot embers of unbridled passion. The nebulous colour of his eyes were mesmerizing most days but now they were extraordinarily so. She reached out and pulled his face to hers, her tongue danced with his as she leaned back on the bed again. He kept himself hovered over her until she used one leg and hooked it behind him, pulling him down to her. He settled himself between her legs, she could feel his manhood pressed against her apex, so close to being where they both desired. She longed for friction and she moved her hips to gain it, rubbing herself along his length. He bucked his hips with her a few times then paused, breaking off their kisses and holding himself still. He looked down at her, his breathing fast and erratic.

“I need you, Molly. I want…I want to feel what it’s like to be in you,” he told her, his voice like rich velvet.

She lifted her head from the pillow to whisper in his ear, “then come inside.”

Molly helped guide the tip of him to her entrance. He tentatively pressed forward and in slowly, inch by glorious inch, until he was buried in her, her moist walls wrapped around him. They started with a slow rhythm, he was quick to learn how to rock with the rise of her hips. When she reached between them to stimulate her clitoris he brushed her hand aside gently and took the task himself, using his thumb he rubbed the bundle of nerves as he plunged into her again and again. The pace became a frenzy as they both neared their climax. Molly came, her breath catching, her body clamping around his. The tightening of her vagina was his undoing and he came right after, her walls milking him of his seed. While Molly’s climax was silent Sherlock’s climax rocked him to his core and he made a primal sound that reflected it.

Sherlock’s body weight pressed upon her in the aftermath, and Molly hugged him to her. He realized he was laying on top of her and tried to roll away.

“No, just…just wait a moment more, please.”

“I’m crushing you, Molly,” Sherlock worried.

“I promise, you’re not. Just, please don’t leave me yet?”

“Okay,” Sherlock said then kissed her shoulder. He gave her a moment then he held her to him and rolled them so they were on their sides. He withdrew from her and she couldn’t help the sharp exhale that escaped her as he pulled out. He disposed of the condom and used the towel that he had brought from the bathroom earlier to wipe himself clean. She got up and used a wet-wipe that she kept on her vanity to clean herself up with. She didn’t know why but Molly was afraid to look at Sherlock. She still wasn’t sure how he felt about all this.

Sherlock noticed the guarded set to Molly’s shoulders. He hated that even after what they had just done she still wasn’t sure about how he felt about her, about what she meant to him.

“Molly,” he spoke her name softly as he reached out to her. She still didn’t turn to him, afraid he’d be back to his usual self. That even after what had just happened he was back to his cool, detached demeanour. “Molly,” he repeated her name, pulling her into his arms and carrying her back over to the bed. He held her in his arms, even long after he’d fallen asleep. Molly fell asleep knowing what it felt like to be embraced in Sherlock’s arms, his breath whispering across her skin, to feel his heart beat in his chest and feel it under her palm. She felt safe, and for the first time in a long while, she felt cherished.

* * * * *

The morning brought cooler air and bright sunlight in the windows of Molly’s flat. Sherlock had already risen and had been thoughtful enough to close some of the windows. The power was back on and Sherlock was sitting on Molly’s couch borrowing her laptop. Molly made them tea and breakfast, which Sherlock had the presence of mind to thank her for.

“What news?” she asked him gesturing to the laptop and Sherlock’s mobile, the latter of which was thankfully waterproof.

“John has left me no less than twenty texts and three voicemails.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. At first I thought it was his curiosity about the case, he has been cooped up a lot lately between the clinic and the baby. Then I read the texts and listened to the voicemails. How is it that you and I helped capture two serial rapists that had eluded the authorities for over a decade, and not only caught them in the middle of an attack, sorry again, but also have physical evidence tying them to the crimes that they committed that CSU will hopefully get DNA evidence from, and all the news wants to report about is how well you and I danced together?”

“What?” Molly asked in a deadpan.

“I said-”

“No, I heard you, I just can’t believe Lestrade would do that.”

“Do what?”

“He took a video of us dancing last night. Sally told me. I figured he’d send it to John and Mary but I honestly didn’t think he’d take it further than that.”

“He didn’t.”

“Then how…?"

“He wasn’t the only one with a mobile with a built-in camera last night. A lot of people recorded a lot of the couples dancing last night. After the press conference people realized who it was dancing in the club, that’s me by the way, and posted their videos all over youtube.” Sherlock pressed play on one such video and Molly watched herself on the screen with Sherlock from the night before. Sally was right, they did dance with passion. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“It’ll die out, Sherlock, soon they’ll have something else to gossip about. Scotland Yard and the victims of the past that have never had closure are grateful to you for your genius insight in catching the bad guys.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock accepted her reasoning begrudgingly and took a sip of his tea as his mobile chimed again.

“John again?”

“Yup,” he said popping the ‘P’.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I…honestly haven’t the faintest idea where to begin,” he admitted. Molly could hear her own mobile vibrating in her purse on the counter. She got up and retrieved it.

“It’s Mary, asking most of the same questions I’m sure John is asking you.”

“And what are you telling her?” he asked as he watched her type out a text.

“Saying good morning and to kindly ask John to stop texting you,” Molly smirked. It told the always shrewd Mary all the details she needed to know for now, that Sherlock was with Molly. Molly knew she’d have to fill in the gaps later but she wasn’t in the mood to do that now.

“Clever, I’m sure Mary will get the meaning of that.”

“Of course she will.”

A moment later Sherlock’s phone chimed one last time from John.

‘We need to do some catching up when you're available’-JW

“I’m sure you do,” Molly said reading the text over Sherlock’s shoulder, “but later.”

“Okay, catching up with John and Mary later. Then what is the plan for now?”

“I have a few moves I want to show you.”

“You do?” Sherlock asked not catching her innuendo.

“Mmhmm.”

“To what dance?”

“The horizontal mambo,” Molly whispered into his ear and her eyes danced with merriment as she watched the meaning of her statement finally dawn on him.

Molly did teach him a few new moves that left them both panting and breathless again. He held her once more in the afterglow, trailing his fingers along her skin, studying her in the daylight. Molly felt completely content with Sherlock in that moment, she wasn’t asking for more. She was just happy to experience all that was happening and was processing it all.

“I love you, Molly. It took me a while to understand what that meant and how to show it, how to tell you, how to allow myself to feel my love for you, but I do. I love you Molly Hooper.”

“I love you too, Sherlock. I think you know I always have,” she responded after she recovered from the shock caused by his declaration and she could form words with her own mouth again. He smiled one of his gentle smiles, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He kissed her again in a way that spoke of his love and promises of kisses and memories to be had and made. Sherlock may not have been able to teach Molly how to be insensitive, but she taught him how to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's movie scene was from Dirty Dancing as seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DerC_9Psdlw
> 
> The song is Cry to Me by Solomon Burke. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed the story. Most of this last chapter was written in the late night hours and is un-betaed, so if there are any errors I apologize and please feel free to point them out so I can fix them. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! :D


End file.
